


Soaring Through My Atmosphere

by loudspeakr



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Fluff, Flying, Friendship, Gen, Present Tense, Protectiveness, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:11:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7273135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loudspeakr/pseuds/loudspeakr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhett takes care of Link during one of their flights together. It's always been this way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soaring Through My Atmosphere

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first submission to the Rhink Summer Ficathon 2k16, my prompts being "Link sleep-talks" and "turbulence". The title comes from Death Cab For Cutie's "Soul Meets Body" - I've been playing the album it comes from, Plans, non-stop for weeks now. It's basically become the soundtrack of my everything at the moment, including the writing of this fic. In fact, I'd listen to that whilst reading this, especially "Summer Skin", "Crooked Teeth", as well as the aforementioned song.
> 
> Okay, alright, I'll leave you to it - enjoy!

The plane finally seems settled now, as Rhett tentatively pulls out an earbud. It was rough going there for a while, the turbulence rattling both him and the overhead compartments, but now they seem to have hit a smooth patch of sky. He imagines their little plane now, a speck in the endless blue expanse, the eyes of total strangers back down on Earth tracking its humble progress until it leaves their share of atmosphere. The thought is oddly soothing.

Cabin lighting now dimmed, Rhett peers around him at his fellow passengers in their varying states of rest. Some fuss over their personal devices, watching TV shows and films on tiny screens, while others pore over their literature. The majority take the opportunity to sleep, and it’s these people that Rhett envies. Try as he might, he’s never been able to sleep on a plane. When exhaustion tugs at him mid-air, he becomes too acutely aware of his surroundings, turning into a touchy, overprotective version of himself. Flying has always made him uneasy; being stuck in an airborne tin-can crammed full of faceless people has never made sense to him.

And so he is rightly astounded that his travelling companion beside him transcends this anxiety because, in consciousness, Link is the epitome of a Rhett mid-flight. Now, however, his jaw hangs comically slack, his trademark sleeping stance, oblivious to the world around – and below – him. Rhett smirks despite himself, listening to the snores that drag their way up Link’s throat. But his forehead is notably unfurrowed, free from stress and self-doubt, and Rhett is quietly thankful.

He has done nothing but worry about his friend over the past few weeks; their work together, though always rewarding, had taken a nosedive into organisational chaos. Paperwork, phone calls and scheduling were all menial tasks that Rhett abhorred, which meant they often fell to Link to complete. And that would normally be all right – Link took sincere pride in his contributions to their company, and managing the logistics was one of his favourites – but lately the work only seemed to pile on and on, and Rhett grew increasingly concerned as he watched sudden fits of anger erupt from nowhere, stubbled jaw clenched, fists tight on the table. Link then began to take it out on the employees, and while they understood their boss was under a great deal of pressure, Rhett was sure it affected them regardless. So wherever Link’s wrath took him, Rhett followed with a string of apologies and caution in his stride.

Rhett knows better than to scold; he’s learned enough about Charles Neal, _his_ Charles Neal, over their thirty-odd years of friendship to call himself an expert of sorts. When all of this is over, Link will look back at his behaviour and feel utterly terrible, slinging apologies himself left, right, and centre. But for the moment, Rhett knows that a stressed Link doesn’t like to be babied, therefore a silent, unseen hand is often best. In this case, he decides the best course of action is to let the man sleep, mouth agape and all, despite the urge he feels to wake him for the company. He even leaves it be when Link’s head rolls onto his shoulder in his unconscious shuffling, his nose nuzzling into the warmth of the taller man’s hoodie.

Years ago, this contact would have bothered him, but as Rhett pulls the glasses from Link’s nose with practiced care, he realises it has been a long while since he’s been truly uncomfortable in Link’s presence. Becoming business partners, moving cross-country, and spending almost every waking moment together has only cemented the bond they already shared; Rhett would probably trust Link with his life. He’s considering this when his friend shifts again, turning away and wetting his tongue with a click, before his cheek returns to its place on Rhett’s shoulder. With Link still once more, Rhett folds the glasses and stows them away in the seat-pocket in front of him, knowing the man will instinctively reach for them when he wakes up.

It’s only now that Rhett notices the painful-looking angle at which Link’s head tilts to lean on him. He reaches over Link’s seat to adjust its recline, his ear accidentally brushing the tip of the brunet’s nose before he can reach the button, and Rhett’s sure he hears something – _words?_ He stills for a moment, unable to help his curiosity, certain now that Link is muttering in his sleep. It’s so quiet he would miss it if not for the close proximity.

Ignoring the tickle of Link’s breath in his ear, Rhett listens. The words themselves are hard to make out, but he catches a _no_ at one point. Link has always been a mobile sleeper, but now Rhett can see the difference, the restlessness, the fidgeting. _He’s dreaming_ , Rhett realises, and Link’s closed eyelids flitter in confirmation. An arm comes over and drapes itself around Rhett’s middle, and the blond’s brow knits with concern. _Please come back._ This time, the words are as clear as day, and now Rhett can see the subtle lines of terror etched into Link’s features. He lets out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

Something within Rhett sparks, a part of him that has laid dormant for decades, ever since the day he punched John Carson as a kid. He remembers it like a series of photographs, as if every blink had saved a snapshot in his memory. It happened in the thick of summer, golden grass, a hot wind whistling through; they had been at soccer practise out on the Buies Creek recreational field. Rhett hated soccer. His parents had signed him up for it, just like everyone else’s, but it just wasn’t his thing. His height made him an easy target, his gangly legs too easily swept out from under him. Link, however, was great at the sport with his smaller frame and quick feet, and he enjoyed being part of the team as far as Rhett could tell. And though he’d have preferred to watch his best friend play from the sidelines, Rhett supposed playing alongside him was an acceptable substitute.

Today, however, he’d had enough. The heat was decidedly too much for him, and it seemed the drills would never end. The coach gave them a short break, releasing them to get their water bottles. Rhett took a long swig from his, squeezing it dry and regretting not having refilled it beforehand, when he heard a commotion from nearby. Being more than a head taller than most of his teammates, he easily sought out the action: Link stood surrounded on the opposite side of the group, John Carson at the front of the mob. Then a shove and Link stumbling back a step. Rhett was moving before he knew it. Another shove, Link’s face screwed up, pink and upset. Closer now, Rhett could hear them: “ _How’d you get on the team? You can’t even kick in a straight line! You don’t belong here._ “ It’s the last thing Rhett remembers before his fist shot out and lodged itself in the chubbier boy’s gut. Then the fog of angry red cleared, and there was a look of surprise on John’s face – truthfully, Rhett was surprised himself, having never been one to resort to violence. The boy before him retreated a couple of steps back, his hands held up in surrender. He never spoke a bad word to either of them again, and to this day, Link swears he doesn’t remember a thread of this, much to Rhett’s unfounded disappointment.

Now, in the dark of the plane, Rhett disentangles himself from Link’s grasp, careful not to wake him, and lifts the armrest between them. He’s had practise at doing this, having done so on flights with his children to allow them to rest more comfortably, but now Rhett is finding it difficult having a grown man to juggle instead. However, he manages to tuck the armrest away and cautiously guides Link’s head from his shoulder onto the travel pillow on his lap, making sure Link doesn’t jostle his bad shoulder. Seeming to sense his new position, Link stirs slightly before relaxing again, his feet now propped up on the empty window seat beside them, and Rhett sends up another silent thanks to their absent seatmate.

Inspecting his work one last time, Rhett sweeps a rogue lock of hair from Link’s forehead. He seems to have calmed down now, his face again a blank slate. Finally content, Rhett secures an arm over his friend’s sleeping form, fingertips lightly brushing the hairs on Link’s forearm, and leans his head back in an attempt to get some rest himself. After a few minutes spent focusing on the warmth of the weight resting on him, the blond begins to feel consciousness slip away, the darkness closing in on him. Just before he falls under, he feels Link shift again.

“Thank you, Rhett.”

It’s as soft as a whisper, then quiet. And for the first time, thousands of feet above the ground, Rhett falls asleep to the sound of his best friend’s peaceful breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, kudos and comments are super appreciated! Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
